The Horse Dealer's Daughter
by Rhiannon Sheldon
Summary: 1922 England (picture Snape in proper tweed suit and cap). A muggle woman's father and stepmother have died and her family is being removed from their home. Severus, a long time family friend, feels his feelings deepening for the woman who he had always
1. An Introduction to the Situation

"Well, Rhiannon, what are you going to do with yourself?" Teddy asked the question without regard for the answer, not even waiting for it before he worked a plug of tobacco into his pipe and began puffing away at it.  
  
Beside him, Jonathan was petting the dog – the last dog that they had – that sat upon his lap, wagging its tail with ignorant bliss. "Will you go to see your sister," he asked, also uninterested in whether she answered or not. Forgetting that Rhiannon's sister was his sister as well.  
  
Rhiannon started at her plate, one in a set of a service for eight that she had laid on this table every day for the past sixteen years. She couldn't help but feel as if her life were drawing on into its winter years. Cold as the ground outside that was buried under thousands and thousands of oak leaves that had fallen from the dying trees over the past few months.  
  
Outside, through the window, the boys could see the last team of draught horses being driven away down the lane, their massive hooves making heavy and disorganized clumps on the soft earthen road, their harnesses jingling jovially. 'At least they don't have to know the weight of the situation,' she thought to herself. 'If only I could be so ignorantly blissful.'  
  
Jonathan reached over into the skillet over the fire and pulled out a piece of bacon fat, all that was left of his final breakfast in this home. He fed it to the dog, letting it slide from between his fingers into Penny's yellowed teeth. She wagged her tail again. There seemed no reason for Jonathan to be worried. He would be leaving this afternoon to his new home in Yorkshire, where he would slip on the harness and become a proper working man for his new fiancée's father. A proper broker with all the benefits that go along with being the boss' main boy.  
  
As for Teddy, Rhiannon didn't know, nor did she care, what would happen to him. He had always been a bit of a rogue, coming and going as he pleased and expecting her to welcome him with open arms and doting service upon his every return. He had moved into the den and she could hear him rustling around, packing things that probably never belonged to him, that probably belonged to their father. It wasn't long before he had returned to the kitchen with two canvas bags full. She scoffed inwardly that he had only shown up with one.  
  
"Farewell, sister," he called to her as he slung his overcoat over his shoulders and his cap upon his head. "May I find thee well when next we meet." Rhiannon didn't respond. Teddy didn't seem to care. Not waiting for an answer, a hug, or any recognition of the fact that he was about to saunter out of her life and her home once more, he pushed open the bottom half of the Dutch door and rambled aimlessly down the lane, never looking back and not shutting the door behind him.  
  
"Oy, look who it is coming up the lane." Jonathan watched Rhiannon for a reaction and, receiving none, reached over and pushed her chin up with his forefinger. She allowed her eyes to cast themselves upon the lane and there, just now passing Teddy with a halfhearted nod of the head, was Severus Snape.  
  
"Oy, Sev," Jonathan called, standing up in a rush and effectively dumping Penny to the floor with a disgruntled squeal. He ran out the already open door to catch up with the bloke, clapping him round the shoulders and shaking him in what was meant to be a friendly way.  
  
Rhiannon stood and cleared the dishes from the table, piling everything up together and rushing slightly to deposit them in the basin in the kitchen, one place she was sure that Severus wouldn't be going, not being on quite so friendly of terms with the family to just stroll into their kitchens. Once everything was safely deposited she moistened a rag and wrung it out, then carried it in to the dining room to bus the table. When most women would have been fussing over their hair or straightening their blouse, Rhiannon was more concerned with his impression of her home than of her.  
  
She could hear their chattering escalating in volume, signifying their closeness to the house, before they were completely upon her, standing just there in the doorway. She chanced a quick glance in their direction. Severus wasn't looking, nor was Jon, so she allowed her gaze to rest a while upon them. She had known Severus all her life. He was five years older than her in age, but emotionally he seemed twenty times her superior. In some ways, that is. He had devoted himself to an academic life. She had devoted herself to domesticity.  
  
Neither of them were much different than they had been as children, besides the fact that Rhiannon had settled quite a bit. As a child she had loved to tease and pick on him for always having his nose stuck in some book. That had all changed around the age of ten when she realized how much, and in what way, she really did care for him.  
  
He had grown quite a bit since last she had seen him. Two summers ago, it had been, when he had come to them for a horse for his niece. Rhiannon herself had a mare that had given birth to a filly the year before, and she had trained the animal herself before selling it to the Snapes. Severus had seemed pleased. But their relationship, since he had gone away to teach at the school, had become all but nonexistent. Interaction had been saved solely for business transactions, of which there were few.  
  
"Afternoon, Rhiannon," he said, noticing her watching him and tipping his cap slightly.  
  
"Good afternoon, Severus," she answered quietly, dropping her gaze back to the table and scrubbing it more furiously than was necessary.  
  
Jonathan, never one to miss a trick, looked between the two of them with a wry and knowing smile. "Severus is back for a semester off," he told her, walking in behind her and fanning the fire. "I told him you wouldn't mind making him a nice welcome home breakfast. It's his first day back, you realize." Rhiannon just looked at Jon with furrowed eyebrows but nodded, finishing up the table and folding the rag into the pocket of her apron.  
  
"It's really not necessary," Severus said, stepping over the threshold and raising a palm, a gesture for her to stop her work. "I've eaten a spot on the train home."  
  
"Nonsense," Jon answered loudly, putting a hand on each of Rhiannon's shoulders and pulling her close to him. "Rhiannon loves to entertain guests. And besides, we've got to be using up what we've got left. Only have until Wednesday, you know."  
  
"Yes, that's what I hear," Severus answered, pulling a chair out from the table and taking a seat, crossing his legs and laying his cap upon his knee. "It really is too bad. That horse you sold us two summers ago has been such a joy for Trinity. She's actually been begging for another, you know. I had aims to ask you if you would be coming across any new fillies before winter. But when I got home mum and da' told me the sad news." Up until this point his attention had been focused on Jon, but now he switched his gaze suddenly to Rhiannon. "I'm so sorry to hear. I know you loved this place with a passion."  
  
"I did," she answered, uncomfortable with revealing her emotions to someone that she now considered a bit of a stranger, and feeling hardly able to contain her tears. "Do you take coffee or tea," she asked, wiping her damp hands on her apron as she turned to flee to the kitchen.  
  
"Tea, please, if you will insist on making something," was all she heard as she nearly ran up the hall away from the men. It was a full half hour before she returned with the tea, but with it she also brought a full tray of breakfast for one containing left over, but fully restored bangers, eggs, back bacon, mushrooms, black pudding, fried potatoes, grilled tomatoes, toast and marmalade. She set the tray down across from him and laid everything out before him as if this were a five star bed and breakfast and he were a prized patron.  
  
Severus was shocked. It never ceased to amaze him the way muggles could put on just as good, if not a better meal than any witch or wizard he had ever met. Take Rhiannon, for example. His own mother, one of the greatest witches in northern England, had told him to grill his own toast and spread some butter on it if he were hungry. And yet, though this was a leftover meal, this muggle had done a bang up job putting it together in a half hour. For his part, he was speechless. He watched silently as she laid everything upon the table and pulled from the pocket of her apron a freshly starched white linen napkin and silver and laid them before him in their proper place.  
  
"Really, Rhiannon, this isn't necessary."  
  
"Nonsense. It must get used up if we don't want it to go to waste."  
  
Severus picked up his napkin and placed it on his lap as Rhiannon poured his tea from her best silver service. "Won't you at least eat with me," he asked.  
  
"I've eaten already, thank you. Do you take cream or sugar?"  
  
"No, thank you. Look, at least sit with me. I shall feel uncomfortable if you leave me alone here in your dining room."  
  
"Where's Jon gone," Rhiannon asked, straightening up and bracing her back with her hands, but still not comfortable enough to trust herself to sit with him through his meal and make interesting conversation.  
  
"He said he had some business in town to take care of before he leaves for Yorkshire this afternoon."  
  
"I see. Just like him to leave me here alone with you." She cursed herself as soon as it came out of her mouth.  
  
Severus looked up from his tea, surprised at her frankness. "Am I so impossible to get along with?"  
  
"No. No, it's not that. Don't mind me," she told him, slipping into a new level of comfort, feeling herself warm up to him slightly. "It's just . . . It's just that –"  
  
"You're missing the place already," Severus answered, picking up his silver and tucking in.  
  
"Most certainly," she answered, tracing the pattern of the wood on the table with one dainty forefinger. "I just can't believe that I am being removed from my home."  
  
"Why has it happened this way," Severus asked, delving into a new level of conversation. "This was always such a profitable business. People came from miles around for your horses. What happened?"  
  
"Sybil," was Rhiannon's sincere and dejected reply. "She's spent everything, Severus. Every last penny." At the mention of her name the dog looked up from the floor, wagging her tale with vigor and hoping for a handout. "Not you," Rhiannon told her, and she returned to her nap on the hearth.  
  
"She always seemed like such a good woman," Severus told her, murdering his banger and moving along to the mushrooms.  
  
"Of course she did. Everyone thought she was. Except for those who lived with her."  
  
"Your father didn't love her?"  
  
"He loved her. But I don't think he realized what he had gotten himself into until it was too late." Silence came between them and Severus focused on his breakfast, not knowing just what to say.  
  
"She used to nag him horribly. Every day she had a new request. He was able to restrain her, a bit, in her spending, but when he died –"her voice cracked here and she returned her gaze to the table.  
  
"Rhiannon I never took the time to tell you how truly sorry I was to hear the news."  
  
"It's fine –"  
  
"No. No, it isn't. You and I have been friends for all our lives and I should have taken a week to be here for you."  
  
"Severus, I never expected –"  
  
"I know you didn't. I know. That's what makes it so awful. You should have expected it from me. You ought to have been heartbroken and confused when I didn't turn up, even for the funeral."  
  
"I don't need others that way. I do fine on my own."  
  
"But you shouldn't have to. I know, and I knew then, that you had no one else. I thought that Sybil would have been a source of comfort for you. I didn't know her truly. But I did know that you would be playing mother to the whole family. Taking care of your brothers and Sybil as well. Hosting gatherings. Receiving mourners. How did you do it, all on your own? How do you?"  
  
"Some people are just naturally inclined toward a life of solitude."  
  
"Yes, I suppose you're right." Severus went back to picking at his potatoes. "But that doesn't make it all right."  
  
"No, I suppose it doesn't. It just is what it is. It's life."  
  
"Thank you for breakfast."  
  
For the first time Rhiannon's face lit up with a smile that could have stopped the earth. "You're welcome, Severus." And then, as an afterthought, as she stared at the flames in the fire she added, "It's my pleasure." 


	2. A Solution Occurs to Him

Author's Note Wow, I never expected the response to this story that I got. That is why I actually feel bad about not updating sooner. But classes just ended for a week and I'm now going to use that week to the best of my ability to get as far with this story as I can.  
  
Two things that you really should know: One, this is meant to be a sort of alternate universe, as was suggested in one of the reviews. Basically it is three years before Harry is born, only everything is going on in 1922 (the year that D.H. Lawrence published his classic tale from which I have shamelessly stolen). Two, everything is the same except for the year. Anyway, this story is meant to offer a new explanation besides the obvious ones as to why, when Harry arrives, Severus has become a bitter, angry muggle hater.  
  
So, please continue to read and review. I will have no reason to finish it if no one is reading it, after all. I hope you like it. Have a lovely day and happy reading!  
  
Peace. Rhiannon  
  
"I don't know why you insist on keeping up a relationship with that silly muggle girl, Severus. I mean, it was nice and all as children, but you've a reputation to uphold now."  
  
"Please, mum. I'm thirty one years old now. I think I can decide for myself whom to remain friends with."  
  
"Well, all I'm saying is –"  
  
"I know. I know exactly what you're saying. Thank you kindly for your advice. Don't be offended when I disregard it entirely."  
  
"Really, Severus," the old witch said, standing and moving slowly into her kitchen, "I would have expected that Dumbledore fellow to have taught you better manners than that."  
  
"Right mum. Thanks."  
  
The old woman hobbled into the kitchen, grumbling something about the new generation under her breath and Severus stood to fix himself a touch of brandy. When his wife was safely out of earshot, Snape senior stood and joined his son at the bar before the fireplace.  
  
"I always thought the two of you made a smart match," he told his son, giving him a jovial nudge in the side with his ageing elbow. "I know you've always been attracted to the blondes, eh?" Severus allowed a small grin to touch the corners of his mouth, turning them up and putting the smallest dimple in his right cheek.  
  
"I'm not attracted to her, father. I just feel sorry for her. Her father gone and her stepmother leaving her destitute." Silence fell between them as Severus took a nip of brandy and turned to gaze into the fire. "You should have seen the breakfast she made me."  
  
"Ah. That's how it always begins. You know, your mother made me breakfast one fateful autumn morning and two weeks later we were expecting an addition to the family. You can imagine how rushed the wedding plans were, I –"  
  
"Okay, da'. Thanks. I think I'll be going out for a walk now."  
  
"Oh, don't run away," the old man called after his son, who had murdered his brandy and left the glass upon the mantel and who was now headed quickly out the door.  
  
'Gaw,' Severus thought to himself, pulling on his cap and slinking down the lane toward town. 'I ought to have just stayed at school with the rest of the dunderheads. At least I wouldn't have had anyone nagging me about my personal life. The children are far too petrified of me to even consider me human and Albus certainly wouldn't have the gall to be so blunt in his assessment of my personal life.' Not noticing where his step was taking him, Severus continued to walk past the post office, the grocer, the chemist, all the way to the town square, where the church had been built but two years ago.  
  
Muggle religion had always fascinated him. Though he had never been able to understand how a perfectly rational being could explain its existence away with a set of silly mythologies, the hope that it instilled in its adherents was enough to capture his awe. As a follower of the dark lord he had become well versed in methods of intimidation and mind control. And yet nothing he was ever capable of could have rivaled what the priest did here each and every Sunday. Slowing down and winding his way between the gothic arches and into the garden beside the towering sanctuary, he beheld, somewhat to his surprise, the image of Rhiannon, the horse dealer's daughter, dressed all in black bent over a grave. Her mother's grave, he realized.  
  
Steeling himself away behind a lanky elm tree he watched as she tediously trimmed the grass around the headstone with a tiny pair of shears, clearing away anything that may take any attention away from the aesthetic quality of the plot. He thought to himself how much work he could save her with a simple shearing charm, but that would take away from the fun of watching her work. Her hair was falling in small ashy tendrils out of the bun atop her head and he could barely perceive a few little beads of perspiration popping up above her brow. Severus was mesmerized.  
  
"Can I help you with something, my son," he heard a voice from behind him. He almost jumped in his surprise. Almost. It wasn't often that someone could sneak up on him. He turned to see an older man, obviously muggle, dressed all in black as well with a white collar. It must be the priest.  
  
"No, sir, thank you. I just stopped in for a rest and a look at the grounds."  
  
The man turned his attention toward Rhiannon, watching her with an expression of pitying seriousness. "The grounds, or the patrons," he asked, already knowing the answer.  
  
Severus turned his attention back to Rhiannon as well. "A little of both, I suppose."  
  
"You're the Snape boy, aren't you?"  
  
"I am."  
  
"You've grown. I believe the last time I saw you you were only yea high," the man told him, holding his hand palm down about a foot above his own knee. "Come back for a visit, have you?"  
  
"I have. Come to see my parents," he added, feeling a discomforting inability to lie to the man but a desire to subterfuge his real motivation for his presence here.  
  
"Is that why you're skulking around the grounds here, then? I didn't realize your parents lived in the churchyard."  
  
"Well, one does need a bit of a respite from one's parents at times."  
  
"I suppose that's true. But you can't hide from your true father."  
  
"Aye."  
  
"She is beautiful, isn't she?"  
  
"Aye, that she is. I'd almost forgotten her in my absence. I almost wish I hadn't returned."  
  
"That will pass. I daresay you are already glad you've returned."  
  
"I cannot lie. I am."  
  
"Well, you are certainly welcome here at any time."  
  
"Thank you, father," he answered quietly.  
  
"May I offer you a word of advice, my son?"  
  
"You may."  
  
"Don't try to hide your true self from her. If there is anything that woman deserves it is honesty. I daresay she is the only woman in this village that deserves it entirely. Her father was a Godly man. She has always followed in his footsteps in that respect. And others. She was the one who trained my own Eddington."  
  
"Eddington, sir?"  
  
"Aye. Lovely Thoroughbred I purchased from her last spring. Those brothers of hers had no way with the animals. But she and her father . . . ah, it was like watching magic happen to see them break a horse."  
  
"I shall remember that."  
  
"Good afternoon, child." The man placed one heavy and comforting palm upon Severus' shoulder before turning and taking his leave.  
  
"Good afternoon, Rhiannon," he called as he approached her from his vantage point beside Severus. The wizard watched Rhiannon sit up on her knees and lay her silver shears down beside the gothic stone cross that served as a headstone. She allowed him to take her hand in a friendly shake before wishing him a good afternoon and going back to her work.  
  
Something had to be done, Severus decided, when she procured from her apron a bouquet of wildflowers that grew indigenously along the lane that led to their homes. A woman like that - a woman who would go to her mother's grave and cut the grass by hand - deserved to at least put a fresh store- bought bouquet in the vase there. Rhiannon hadn't asked for Sibyl to overtake the family fortune. There was no reason that she should be held responsible for it. Gathering himself and steeling silently from his hobbit hole behind the elm, Severus set off back up the lane toward the home of one M. Night he had know also as a boy. Raised a wizard, he had chosen a muggle way of life following in the footsteps of his father. The life of a banker had suited him well, and as Severus approached the family homestead he noticed several changes that had undergone the place.  
  
With a curt knock upon the door Severus was able to lure someone out of one of the side salons of the home. To his surprise it was a woman who answered.  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
Severus, at a loss for words, stuttered stupidly for a moment before finding his voice. "I was under the impression that Mr. Night still resided at this address."  
  
The woman, who seemed amicable enough, smiled and stood aside, opening the door wide for her unexpected guest. "He does. I am his wife. Elizabeth." She held out her hand for him to shake, which he did gently, so as not to offend the woman.  
  
"Elizabeth. It has been so long since Micah and I have exchanged correspondence that I fear I was not aware of his marrying anyone. Please forgive my lack of sagely words for you. I hope a simple 'nice to meet you' will suffice."  
  
Elizabeth smiled even wider and withdrew her hand from his grip. "It certainly will. If you would like to have a seat in the salon I will call Micah right in from the garden. I'm sure you're familiar with his affinity for all things flora."  
  
"I certainly am. I remember in school I used to copy his herbology homework for the first three years."  
  
"Herbology?" Elizabeth looked at him blankly for a moment. "I don't remember my brother ever talking about that class when he was in school. He took botany, I believe, but only for a semester."  
  
"Oh, right. Well, I was educated out of the country, you see. I'm sure it was merely a different name for the same class," Severus answered, realizing he was dealing with yet another muggle. He laughed inwardly to himself. Imagine, Micah Night, married to a muggle. "I'll have a seat just here, then."  
  
"Right. Can I get you anything to drink? A nice glass of cider, perhaps."  
  
"Cider would be spot on. Thank you, Elizabeth."  
  
"Not a worry," she answered, heading on down the hallway toward what Severus was guessing was a back patio door.  
  
'So that's what's different,' he mused to himself, taking a seat on the settee and inspecting the room. The house that he now sat in had always been a bit of a man's home. Dark wood paneling on the walls, hardwood floors, and certainly no gardens outside. Micah Night senior had been a widower who had raised his son entirely on his own (with the help of a governess, obviously). And after his passing, a few years ago, Micah junior had inherited the house exactly as it had been for years. Along with the title of head banker. Imagine Severus' surprise walking up the drive surrounded by flowers of all types and walking into the home to find every wall repainted white, Berber carpet on the floors and cream colored furniture everywhere. It had certainly become a woman's home these days.  
  
Soon the consistent "click, scrape" of Micah's characteristic boots was heard upon the floor in the hallway and Severus stood to greet him.  
  
"Severus," the man called from the doorway to the salon, his arms wide, taking massive strides into the room to envelop his old friend in an embrace. "It's so good to see you again. What brings you back to these parts? I thought you vowed never to return after the row you and your mother had three years ago."  
  
"Things change," Severus answered cryptically. "I've actually come to speak with you about a favor I need."  
  
"Anything! I certainly hope I will be able to help. Please, have a seat." Micah went to the doorway again and called out into the house, "Elizabeth, some cider for our guest," only to be taken by surprise when Elizabeth appeared from the obscure entrance to the room from the left.  
  
"Ten steps ahead of you, my dear," she said, breezing into the room and laying upon the end table a tray of two fluted cider glasses, filled, and a plate of Cornish pastys. "And I've brought something else along, for your perusal," she said, turning toward the door she had entered from and holding out one hand.  
  
"Come, dear," she called and the sound of two tiny feet could be heard clip- clopping uncertainly into the salon. "This is Sasha," she said as the tiny girl walked uncertainly toward her mother, never taking her eyes off Severus, and took her mother's hand. Elizabeth scooped her up into her arms and Sasha, obviously shy but wanting to get a better look at this unfamiliar face, curled her head into her mother's neck leaving just enough space to see the room.  
  
"Sasha," Severus answered, stepping closer and removing his hat. "What a beautiful little child you are," he said, standing a foot away from mother and child. "You look just like your papa. You know, your papa and I, we were friends when we were your age. Our parents used to have us play together outside in that very garden," he said, pointing. Sasha curled into her mother's neck and began to sob hysterically at having been so personally addressed by this unfamiliar and somewhat imposing face.  
  
Elizabeth laughed and held her daughter's head close to her bosom. "You'll have to forgive her," she explained. "It's an hour past nap time," she continued in a whisper, holding out her hand for Severus to take one last time. He did, and kissed it lightly upon the fingertips. "It was a pleasure meeting you," she said, still whispering, as she turned to take her leave. "Micah has told me so much about you that I often wondered if I would ever get the pleasure of meeting you in person or not. If the two of you need anything," she said as she reached the door and turned to face them one last time, "don't hesitate to call."  
  
"Thank you, darling," Micah answered from beside Severus. "We shall. Now put that silly little thing to bed before she throws a tantrum." Elizabeth smiled and disappeared from view.  
  
"Now, to business. What is this favor that you need from me?" 


	3. The Mystery of Mr MacMillan

"Actually," Micah said, taking a swig from his cider, "I think there may be something we can do for you."  
  
"Really?" Severus leaned forward and took a relieved swig of his own cider. He hated to think that his only plan would be shot down so early. Merlin's ghost, someone must be looking out for him in, what did the muggles call it? Ah yes. Someone must be looking out for him in Heaven.  
  
"There was a grant from the crown to all minor villages just last month. We received a rather large amount ourselves. That old farm, how long has it been standing?"  
  
"I don't really know, to be honest. I have heard them talking about a great grandfather living there, but no one has ever said who built the place. Or when."  
  
"Well, find out. This grant is to be given out, divided, among the historical landmarks in the village. If the farm qualifies, and I'm willing to bet that it does, I feel certain that I could loan Rhiannon whatever she needs to simply buy it from the landlord and be done with him."  
  
"Phenomenal."  
  
"Indeed. So my advice to you is to go up there and find out while I get the paperwork situated."  
  
"On a Saturday morning?"  
  
"Think nothing of it. Elizabeth knows that I must sometimes bring my work home with me. And after all, it is for an old friend."  
  
"A friend of a friend, you mean."  
  
"Any friend of yours, Severus, is a friend of mine."  
  
"I wouldn't go that far, Micah."  
  
Micah cast a confused and suspicious look at his old companion but shrugged it off as one of the odd things that Severus was sometimes wont to say.  
  
"Anyway, I prefer not to tell her. I'd rather have the money donated anonymously, have it seem as if it were some freak happenstance, than give it to her myself."  
  
"Afraid of her showing you some appreciative affection?"  
  
"Shut it, Micah."  
  
Micah held his hands up in defense. "All right. All right. Then my next suggestion is that you head on over to the public office and look up the records for yourself."  
  
"I shall do that at once. Shall I meet you back here at, say, one o'clock?"  
  
"A little sure of your research abilities, aren't you?"  
  
"Please. I've been a professor and a top student for years now – over a decade. I think I shall be able to dig up a little information on a house."  
  
"Right-o. One o'clock it is then. If everything works out and you find the information we need I think I shall be able to have the check ready by closing time."  
  
"Excellent."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
The two shook hands, finished their cider, and went their separate ways. Micah went to his den to begin drawing up the paperwork and Severus, cap and jacket in hand as it was beginning to warm up, down to the public office that stood just beside the chemist's shop.  
  
"Good afternoon," an old woman came hobbling out from behind a dusty desk that was covered with papers. It reminded him of his fifth year ancient runes professor. "What can I help you with?"  
  
Severus raised his eyebrows quizzically, wondering if this old woman would be able to help him with anything, and then remembered that wisdom is always found in the aging, and for this specific purpose maybe what he needed wasn't a list of facts on paper, but from the memory of a townsperson.  
  
"I am looking for the complete historical record of the Moon farm."  
  
"The Moon farm," the woman repeated, looking blankly into space and repeating the words over and over again under her breath. Severus sighed inwardly. Perhaps this wasn't the fountain of knowledge he had been hoping for. But just as quickly as his heart had sunk it leapt up again into his throat.  
  
"Ah yes, the horse dealer's farm. Old Richard Moon was taught the business end of his practice by my own father. A Ferrier, he was. Worked in complete cooperation with the Moons until –"  
  
"Yes, well, what I'm after is some information regarding who built the farm. And when."  
  
"Looking to buy the place are you," the old woman turned and began to walk to an obscure corner of the office, gesturing with one gnarled finger for Severus to follow. He did.  
  
"Well, in a sense, I suppose. Looking to invest in it, more like."  
  
"Invest. That place has gone under son, haven't you heard? Old Sybil Moon spent up the last of the family fortune a few days before she died. Made the same mistake as you, investing. Only she invested in a racehorse. Cost her and those poor children everything when it died two days before the race."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Here we are. Deeds and Titles. You should find what you're looking for somewhere here," she told him, holding out her arms to indicate a row of three bookshelves which were all as crammed full and cluttered as the woman's desk. Severus' heart again sank, but this time all the way to his toenails.  
  
"Many thanks, miss."  
  
The woman blushed and giggled lightly. "No one has called me miss in quite some time," she told him, batting her eyes up at him.  
  
"Well, I can't see why. You are certainly the picture of youth and . . . virility." The words tasted bitter to him, but they had to be said if the plan that was hatching in his brain was to work.  
  
"Oh," she gasped and waved him off with one hand. "You must be blind."  
  
"Here. For your help. I noticed that a new fish and chips shop has been opened just round the corner. Perhaps you'd like to –"but before he could finish she had snatched the paper money from his outstretched hand and was hobbling off, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, to the door.  
  
"Haven't eaten since yesterday," she told him hurriedly, pulling the door open. "Just lock up if you leave before I come back."  
  
Severus blinked. That was easy. Almost too easy. He wondered if he'd better tone himself down the next time he used his eyes to suggest an action to someone. He could have told that old woman that she wanted to jump off a bridge and she would have done it. Straightening himself up he turned and regarded the bookshelf with disgust. How could anyone allow a place such as this to become so cluttered?  
  
Ah well. Time to get to work. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket he wrapped his hand around his wand. Funny how little time it took for it to feel cold and unfamiliar in his hand. Or maybe it just felt cold and unfamiliar to be using it any place other than the castle. Especially this place. He'd rarely used magic here at home before.  
  
Pulling out the wand and glancing behind him just once more to ensure his privacy, he held his wand high and with the proper ratio of swish to flick he muttered the charm. Instantly, and with a rather pretty golden glow, the stacks of papers took on lives of their own, standing, dancing, moving themselves to where they were meant to be. He was surprised that it took a full two minutes. This place must really be more unorganized that he had suspected. When all movement on the bookshelf had ceased and the glow had gone he stepped forward and read the inscriptions of the shelves of the bookcase.  
  
"Deeds," one said, and beside it all the way down the row was a list of names. He followed it to the M's, found Moon, and pulled out the stack of papers in its section. It was rather small. Taking the pages, he found a table with a candle upon it, lit the candle, and began to read. It didn't take him long at all. The house had been inherited by Richard Moon the Junior by Richard Moon the senior in 1882 at the age of twenty. Richard Moon the Senior had inherited the house from his father, Prestly Moon in 1837. And on and on the list went. Like that one passage in the bible that simply reads "and so and so begat so and so who begat so and so who begat so and so. . . "  
  
The very first Moon to have inherited the place was a man by the name of Aric Moon in 1673. That seemed historical enough. However, he was a bit anal retentive and it seemed to him that the record should be complete. The place had been bought by Aric from a man by the name of Morothos MacMillan in that same year. Looking around him again to make sure the old woman hadn't hobbled back inside silently, Severus took out his wand again and duplicated every page he had read. Then he picked up the originals and replaced them in their rightful spot on the bookshelf. Moving up the row again he found the etching "MacMillan" a few names up and pulled out a single paper. He read it.  
  
"I, Morothos, MacMillan, hereby bequeath the land and all that I have built upon it, to one Aric Moon. This includes all land up to and including the Eight Meter Stream, the Hollows, the Pond, the Farmhouse, the Barns and the Paddocks." That was it. It seems that Morothos MacMillan was either not from here, or not in the habit of making official business transactions. Nevertheless, Severus duplicated the page, replaced the original, grabbed up his copies and left the office, locking it with a locking charm on the way out. 


	4. A Momentary Interlude

Author's Note Okay, I know, I've been slacking. My sincerest apologies. I became entangled in a project of hemp necklaces and listening to The Green Mile on CD. Anyway, this is the fourth and by far the most emotionally charged chapter to date. I hope you enjoy it. Unfortunately I must admit that I don't know anything about English history and I couldn't tell you if it was ever one of King George V's belief that historical monuments should be preserved or not. However, I doubt that he regularly awarded stipends to individual villages for such purposes. But it does make for a good story, doesn't it? Also, I hope the story isn't too much like the original (and far better) tale by D.H. Lawrence. I realize that it's fluff, and for that I'm almost sorry. But it's good fluff. It's tasteful fluff. If you had to read fluff, wouldn't you choose this fluff? Alright, enough with my rambling. Go on and read now, kiddies. Enjoy. Peace.  
  
"Severus," she said, looking up from her work in the dining room to cast an almost smile at him as he wandered up the lane, the bottom half of him obscured by the closed bottom half of the dutch door. "You'll never believe what happened. Come in. I shall make you some tea."  
  
Smiling almost so minutely that only he could tell, Severus reached inside and undid the latch on the door, allowing it to swing open and admit him. Penny, upon hearing the scrape of the latch, skittered toward the door, the sound of her nails scraping against the tile as she leapt out into the not- so-balmy autumn sunshine.  
  
Severus stepped out of her way so as to avoid her hitting his leg and removed his cap, straightening his long black hair and pushing it behind his ear. His head tilted downward, he allowed his eyes to rise to greet the image of her as she bustled around the place with a homemade broom.  
  
"Sit down, sit down," she told him, pulling a chair out from the table. He was so caught off guard by her energy that he did as he was told immediately. His mother had trained him well and he had learned quickly that when a woman is acting unpredictably it was best to do as she asked without hesitation. He crossed his legs and placed his cap upon his knee and watched her, silently.  
  
As soon as she realized that she was under observation she stopped completely all action and turned to look at him. "What," she asked, sounding indignantly amused.  
  
"Well I'm waiting for the continuance of this story. You told me that I wouldn't believe what had happened but, as yet, I am still waiting to hear what happened before I can decide whether or not to believe it."  
  
"Gaw, aren't you a cheeky one today? Oh, blast I forgot the tea. Hold on just a moment," she said, standing her broom in the corner nearest her and hurrying into the kitchen.  
  
"It's really not necessary," he called after her. "I'd really rather hear the rest of the story. The suspense, I fear, is eating at me."  
  
"Patience, my friend, is a virtue," she called from down the hallway, "and besides, good news always sounds better over a nice cup of tea."  
  
He decided not to argue with her any longer. He knew she always did as she pleased anyway. And he knew that she knew that he really had been hoping that she would offer him a cuppa.  
  
It wasn't five minutes before she returned, the same tea service she had used the other morning in hand and full of all the makings of a fantastic and unnecessary cream tea. She sat down, poured him a cup, poured herself a cup, and leaned back in her chair, brushing strands of ashy blonde hair out of her face. Little beads of perspiration were popping up around her brow, as they had the day he had seen her at the grave, and he felt an unexplainable and uninvited flutter in the pit of his stomach. She sighed wearily, but happily, and smiled at him from across the table as he smeared some strawberry jam and clotted cream on one of the buttermilk scones.  
  
"Well," he asked.  
  
"I had a caller this morning."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Indeed. I believe you knew him. Went to school with him in the north. Micah Night. The banker's son. Seems he turned out to be a banker as well."  
  
"You don't say."  
  
"I do. He took his father's position at the bank and he came to see me this afternoon."  
  
"Good news, I hope."  
  
"Indeed it was. He had with him a substantial amount of money that he said had been paid to him by our very own King George. And can you guess what it was for?"  
  
"I don't believe I could in a million years. Tell me."  
  
"For this very farm," she told him, punctuating her words by tapping her finger with each one upon her dining table. She hadn't yet touched her tea and it seemed improbable that she had brought out the scones with any intention of eating one herself.  
  
"No," he gasped, hoping that he wasn't sounding too terribly false. "Why, pray tell, would King George send Micah Night money for your farm?"  
  
"Well he didn't send it just for this farm. He sent it as a grant in order to preserve and beautify natural historical landmarks around the village. And several other villages in the country. Can you believe it?"  
  
"I daresay I can't," he answered, biting into his scone and reeling in shock at its tastiness. "Is this jam homemade?"  
  
"Aye. But the farm, Severus! The money! I won't have to move!"  
  
"I know, I know. It's excellent news isn't it? Where on earth did you get this cream?"  
  
"Severus Snape! I never thought that you would value a snack more highly than one of your childhood friends who just found her way out of distress and certain doom. Honestly," she said, faking disgust as she crossed her arms across her chest and looked just as she had at age twelve, pouting because she couldn't take his attention away from the latest chemistry book.  
  
"You're right, Rhiannon. I'm sorry. Please accept my sincerest apology."  
  
She thought about it for a moment before, no longer able to hide her inevitable and striking smile, she allowed it to burst through onto her face and answered, "Fine. Accepted."  
  
"Fantastic. May I take a few of these home with me?"  
  
"Gaw!" She plucked a towel that had been resting across her shoulder and flung it at him with a falsely irritated laugh. "You cheeky little thing. A lot of nerve you have."  
  
He dodged the towel just in time for it to catch Penny on the head, who had come running in to see what all the commotion was about. The quick movement had caused the tea service to rattle and Severus to emit an almost frustrated and heavily surprised grunt as he had nimbly moved to avoid it.  
  
"So, does this mean that you'll be staying around the village a while then?"  
  
"Aye, indeed. Forever, I suppose." She turned her attention out the door at the landscape rolling out around the house with a wistful stare and a contented, faraway smile. "I suppose I'll have to be on the look out for gold digging men who want to suddenly start up a relationship with me for my money."  
  
"Aye," Severus answered, his mood darkening as the subject turned to other men. He couldn't describe the feeling that welled up in his chest and throat, but if he had been conscious of it he would have classified it as a jealousy.  
  
"Perhaps I'll never marry," she went on, still sounding far away in thought. "That way I'll never have to worry about making the same mistake that my father has."  
  
"Oh, I'm not entirely sure that's the answer. After all, a young woman like yourself . . . with so many years ahead of her . . . well, you know . . ."  
  
Rhiannon was broken away from her daydream by the sudden confusion and stuttering consternation of her usually well composed companion. She looked at him, daring to gaze right into his face as he was staring at his cap and pulling little stray pieces of tweed from it. She noticed that his usually almost translucent skin was becoming a bright shade of beige and that the blush went from his forehead to his ears. This, in turn, caused her to blush, and she looked back down at the dining table and began tracing the pattern of the wood with her index finger again.  
  
"You say that as if you are several years my senior."  
  
"I am," he answered morosely.  
  
"Only five," she told him. "If a woman my age should be considering marriage, how is it that a man your age hasn't taken a wife yet? Are there no women at that school where you teach?"  
  
"No suitable ones."  
  
This quieted Rhiannon for a moment. She didn't know exactly what he was saying and couldn't be sure if the innuendo that she felt was so present was really there or merely a figment of her overactive imagination.  
  
"Surely there must be someone there who-"  
  
"No." He cut her off completely with that one simple answer.  
  
"Well, there's no one suitable here for me either. All the men in this town were friends with one of my brothers or the other. I've been unfortunate enough to see the true side of them all when they've been here drinking and I don't think I'd want any of them as friends let alone lovers."  
  
The sound of her voice, the image of her lips forming the word "lover" was almost too much for Severus. He gazed back down at his cap and began picking at it furiously, pretending to straighten his hair so that he could let it lay against the side of his face, hiding his ever deepening blush.  
  
At this point Rhiannon leaned forward and took a sip of the tea that she had poured so long ago without so much as a spoon of sugar or a dot of honey.  
  
"You don't take any sweetener," he observed.  
  
"No. Never much cared for it. I always liked the bitterness of a good cup of tea."  
  
"You like your tea just as you are, then."  
  
She looked up at him, indignant. "You mean to say that I'm bitter."  
  
"No. Not at all. I mean to say that you are perfect just as you are. Without any help from artificial and unnatural agents."  
  
This stopped her entirely. She had no idea how to respond to a statement such as that, let alone one from the man she had been entranced with since the age of twelve. She opened and closed her mouth, searching for words and finding none, looking like a fish out of water, gasping for air.  
  
"I don't . . . I mean . . . well, thank you," she managed to spit out before taking another sip of tea in order to give her mouth something else to focus on aside from trying to think of how one responds to such a thing. She had always been the quiet sister. The obedient daughter. Staying home to take care of her family in the absence of her mother. She had rarely gone out unless it was to market or trim her mother's grave. Or to church. Other than that she had been given no social upbringing besides the one she learned on her own listening to her brothers and father with their friends in the dining room, drinking their scotch and roaring like animals.  
  
Severus smiled, first at her and then down at his cap, and the blush began to fade from his face. However, it was only beginning to creep into hers. He finished off what tea was in his cup and stood, scraping his chair legs against the tile and replacing his cap. She watched him walk to the door, stop, seeming to contemplate something, and then turn to face her.  
  
"I look forward to a long vacation at home," he told her, tipping his cap to her and turning to take his leave. She watched him walk all the way down the lane, a new bounce somehow acquired to his step. And a new bounce in her heart to match. 


End file.
